


Tendrils

by Nevanna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Amnesia, Compulsion, M/M, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Plants, Recovered Memories, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: Tim is unsettled for reasons that he can't quite remember.  Jon suggests a solution.





	Tendrils

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lethe's Ivy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638188) by [winternacht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht). 

“…happened? Tim? Can you hear us?”

“What, you never tripped over a body since you started working here?”

“He’s not… he’s still breathing, Melanie!”

“It was a joke.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny! I’m going to get Jon.”

“Because that’s your solution for everything, isn’t it?”

“It’s not… I’m not… what do you suggest? _Besides_ slapping him.”

“You must’ve wanted to do that to him at least once, right? And it worked. He’s coming round.”

\--

The sight of the plant on his desk wasn’t even the weirdest thing Tim had experienced lately, but something about the vines and leaves – the way they twitched even without any airflow – made him want to back away quickly.

“Tim?” A low, hesitant voice interrupted his thoughts. “Everything all right?”

Tim started to insist that he was fine, but his elbow collided with the ceramic pot as he whirled around, and the whole lot crashed to the floor. “Keep away from that!” he snapped as Martin started forward. “If you want to make yourself useful, call someone to take it to the incinerator.” The tendrils of ivy shivered and waved as Tim swept them into the dustbin, but, to his relief, they didn’t try to grab either him or Martin.

He tried not to think too hard about what could happen if they did.

When Martin returned from making the call, he declared, “Well, now I know that everything’s _not_ all right.”

“Gosh, I don’t know where you got that idea,” Tim said with as much false cheer as he could summon. “None of us can quit our jobs, this place is run by a murderer who worships some supernatural peeping Tom – and, no, I don’t care if he hears me,” he added as Martin’s eyes widened. He’d almost gotten used to feeling like Elias was smiling over his shoulder. “And an evil circus is going to end the world unless we kill ourselves trying to stop it. Everything’s just peachy-keen.”

“You were jumpy even before… you know, yesterday,” Martin continued stubbornly, ignoring the roll of Tim’s eyes. “More than you’ve been since the Prentiss business. Maybe we can help. We’ve got to look after each other, yeah?”

Of course the poor sap was clinging to some _we’re-in-this-together, all-for-one-and-one-for-all_ fantasy. “Oh, did you hear that?” Tim asked, tilting his head. “I think Jon wants a cup of tea. Run along, now.”

“Actually,” said another voice from behind them, “Jon would like to sort this out.”

Tim offered a grin that was almost a snarl. “’Fraid there’s nothing to sort, boss. Except for a bloody huge stack of paperwork.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “So I should just ignore the fact that Martin and Melanie found you passed out in the corridor yesterday?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” Tim agreed. “As if no one’s ever found me that way before.”

“Martin, could you leave us alone for a bit?” Jon asked, and Martin fled again. “Tim, I recognize that our workplace is unconventional, but your claim to have drunk yourself to oblivion inside the Institute would still be troubling… _if_ any of us believed it.”

“So what do you think happened?” Tim demanded. “Wait, you don’t have to guess.”

“Oh, here it comes,” Jon muttered. 

“You can just dig through my head,” Tim went on. He spread his hands. “Good luck finding memories that’ve already been gobbled up!”

“That have been _what_?”

Tim’s words had surprised even himself, and the only truth he could give was, “I don’t know.” _An unfortunate side effect_, a voice crooned in his ear, and his head snapped around. Nobody was there.

Jon considered all of this. “Would you like to?”

\--

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Tim said when he saw the tape recorder on the desk.

“Nobody else will ever listen to it without your full consent.” Jon sat down opposite him. “And if you don’t wish to continue, we can stop at any time.”

_You sure about that?_ Tim thought. “Stop treating me like a blushing virgin,” he said aloud, “and work your hocus-pocus already.”

“Right. Very well.” Jon cleared his throat and addressed the whirring tape. “Statement of Timothy Stoker, regarding possible missing memories, and…” He looked up. “Anything else?”

“Some kind of creepy plant that wanted to attack me,” Tim said, without quite realizing that he’d intended to. He could hear Jon name the date and intone _statement begins_, could practically feel the words nudging inside his head, as if they were looking for something, anything, to latch onto.

“When did you first see this plant?”

“Well, I want to say ‘on my desk, this morning,’ but I don’t feel like that’s true. I know déjà vu happens to everyone, but it doesn’t usually make people want to run screaming from an innocent little pot of ivy, does it?” Tim didn’t wait for an answer. “Only it’s not innocent. Its little tendrils were waving at me, reaching for me, and they would’ve grabbed me if I hadn’t knocked it onto the floor; I just _knew_ it.” There was no snarl in his voice as he added, “I guess you know what that’s like.” 

“You’re not wrong,” Jon agreed. “Do you have any idea where it might have come from?”

“My first guess was that someone from the lab or Artifact Storage was playing a prank,” Tim admitted. “There was no note this time.”

“‘This time,’” Jon repeated, his voice sharpening. “What else came into your head when you saw it?”

“I remember the leaves touching me. Pulling on me.” Tim shuddered. “They caught me so I couldn’t move, and I remember that the vines went into my mouth and under my shirt and…” He tried to recall the surroundings that went with the sensations, but they faded as he reached for them, leaving only the sweetness of the sap in his mouth, the pulsing heaviness between his legs, each caress and squeeze and the sound of… “And Elias was laughing.”

“I don’t think it should surprise either of us that he was involved.” Jon leaned forward. “Do you want to tell me the rest?”

“I’m trying…” Trying to capture the pieces of memory that wavered and whispered just beyond his reach. He couldn’t leave this unfinished.

“Are you?”

“…but I can’t.” 

“You _can_.” And the Archivist pushed his chair back as he stood, trapping Tim in his gaze. “_Tell me_.”

That voice vibrated inside Tim’s skull, ripped away whatever barrier lay between him and the past, and the rest of the story poured out. All the places on his skin, and inside of him, that the monstrous plant had touched and teased and moved since that first night at Elias’ flat. All the ways that it had made him come, or kept him from coming. The times that Elias had joined in or just sat and watched, and then taken advantage of the gaps in Tim’s memory to inflict it on him again, and again, and again, with a different sly note each time, until… 

“…I guess I collapsed after that,” he finished, finally wrung dry of words.

He wasn’t sure how long the silence lasted, either before or after Jon murmured, “Statement ends.” The click of the tape recorder might have been the loudest thing he could imagine. “Tim, I…”

“If you say that you’re sorry, I’ll throw that thing at your head,” Tim growled. “Just leave me alone.”

“If I do that, are you going to hurt yourself, or start smashing things?”

He barely felt the compulsion this time, but knew that it must have been there. “No.”

“We can move forward, or not, when you’re ready.” Jon’s fingers grazed Tim’s shoulder as he passed by. The door opened, then closed, leaving Tim alone with his rage and his shame and the sickening dregs of arousal, feeling flayed and hollowed out at once.

\--

“Is there something that you need, Jon?”

“I would hope that ‘Elias, please don’t sexually assault my assistants’ isn’t too much to ask.”

“Ah. Which one _opened up_ to you, then? Oh, don’t give me that look; you musn't think I was serious.”

_"Elias!"_

“Mmmmm. I suppose it wouldn’t make a difference if I showed you how much Tim enjoyed himself. Does he know that you’re here?”

“Of course. Unlike you, I don’t…”

“You don’t… what? Don’t sneak around behind your employees’ backs, convinced that you know better than they do? Don’t invade their privacy? Don’t feed on their secrets? How did his statement taste?”

“That is irrelevant.”

“I think that, on that point, we can agree to disagree.”

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired, not only by Winternacht's deliciously Hot Wrong fic (which I highly recommend), but also by some speculation in the comments about how Tim's memories might resurface. I am immeasurably grateful to the original author for letting me play in her trashy, trashy sandbox, and to Nelja for telling me to go for it. <3


End file.
